They would arrive sometime in June. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. 1. I ought to be able to think things out. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time.
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